Time Enough For Counting
by pantsoflobster
Summary: Human, non-supernatural AU. After a complete disaster of a trip to Vegas, Dean finds himself alone and completely broke, having lost everything he started with. While trying desperately to hitchhike home, Dean is saved by the odd and enthralling Castiel who shockingly offers to take him all 1200 miles. Along the way, they gamble their with scruples for much more than they're worth.
1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester had quite recently become the poster boy for the phrase "in deep shit".

He let out a gruff, angry sigh as another car sped past, sending a slight spatter of muddy water his way. He just needed a ride; he was sick of walking. He knew it was his fault. There wasn't the tiniest bit of his predicament that wasn't. He hated himself enough for it, he didn't even want to imagine what Sammy would say or Bobby's face when he got back. He strongly considered never returning, but these considerations were highly short-lived. He had to go back, so he might as well get it over with. If only he could.

Not far out of Las Vegas, a trucker had picked him up and taken him as far as he could. Now he was somewhere in Utah and luck was not on his side. Considering the events of his day, this came as no surprise. He'd been walking along this highway for miles. He had thought, when he was first picked up, that maybe his luck was changing. But when he was dropped off again, he discovered hitchhiking wasn't as easy as they make it look. Dean found himself thinking that it might change things somehow if he had a pair of tits. He wiped the last bit of muddy water off his forehead and sank to the ground, folding his arms across his knees and resting his head on them. He just wanted to get back to his family and confess to his mistakes, and he couldn't even manage that.

Dean didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when he heard a car do something he wasn't used to cars doing: it was stopping for him. A sleek, white sedan had pulled up next to him. If he hadn't been so desperate, he would have been suspicious of why someone driving such a vehicle was giving him a single thought. But Dean was not in his right mind and he walked right up to the open passengers' side window.

Inside sat a guy nearly his own age, looking concerned and out-of-sorts himself.

"Are you alright?" the driver asked. "I saw you on the side of the road and I thought I should stop."

His voice was deeper than expected, with a certain roughness to it that Dean liked already. "I'm fine, I mean, other than the fact that I seriously need a ride to the nearest hub of transportation," Dean said, turning on his charm and hoping for the best.

The young man smiled, filling Dean with hope. "I don't see why I can't take you where you need to go," he said. "I have no obligations."

"Dude, thank you so much, you are currently the best man I know," Dean said with the utmost gratitude as he hopped into the passenger's seat. "Do you mind if I chuck my stuff in the back?"

"Not at all."

He glanced around the vehicle and was suddenly conscious of the LED display in the dashboard and the quality of the leather seats. "Dude, this is a nice set of wheels."

"Thanks," he said, although his face was suddenly set with something heavy, possibly guilt.

"I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester"

"Castiel Milton."

"That's a hell of a first name," Dean said.

Castiel huffed out a laugh. "Quite the opposite."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Castiel is the name of an angel," he explained.

"Your parents some kind of super-Christians?"

"You could say that."

Dean smirked. "You've got some mystery to you, Castiel, I like that. Castiel," he repeated thoughtfully. "Mind if I call you Cas? I'm going to either way."

"I don't mind at all," he said. "So where are you going exactly?"

"I have to get myself back to Sioux Falls, in South Dakota," Dean said, suddenly brought down again. "Where are you trying to get to?"

"Nowhere, really," he told him. "I just left St. George, not long ago. I've just gotten away from my family and I have no intention of going back any time soon."

"Gotcha," Dean said, nodding. "Were you planning on driving though the night?"

"I was going to see where I got in a few more hours and find somewhere to stay, now at least I have a direction in which I know I'm headed."

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

"You know," Castiel began. "When I said I have no obligations, I meant it. I could take you all the way up to South Dakota if you'd like."

Dean was taken aback by the offer. "No, man, that's ridiculous, it's like, three days driving."

"Really, Dean," Castiel said, looking at his passenger for a moment, dead serious.

He didn't know what to say. "Look, I'm seriously thankful that you'd offer to do that, but I can't let you."

Castiel kept his eyes on the road. "I want to."

At this time, Dean thought maybe he should be worried about this kid he decided to trust. Who offers to take a hitchhiker across the entire midwest? But something in his calm expression and serene blue eyes made him think, There's no way this kid is a serial killer or anything. There's just not. Or maybe he's just really good.

"I don't have the money for motels or food or anything," Dean argued.

"I've got it covered."

There was a moment of silence.

"Dude, are you a serial killer?" The question was blunt, but a hopeful joke.

"Of course not," Castiel assured him. This guy didn't take jokes, apparently. "I genuinely want to help you."

"Why?" Dean couldn't help but ask. "Why do you even trust me in the first place? I'm a hitchhiker."

"I have a way of telling good from bad," he explained, with a slight smile. "It's like people's intentions radiate off them and I can see it."

"So you're telling me," Dean said, "I give off a good vibe?"

"Are you suggesting I misjudged your character?"

"No," Dean retorted. "It's just… I don't think I'd pick me up off the side of the road."

Castiel glanced at his passenger. "Why were you out there, anyway?"

Dean buried his face in his hands, letting out a groan of exhaustion. "It's a long story. And I'm not just saying that."

"It seems to me," Castiel said, "that we have many hours ahead of us, and a long story may adequately fill some of that time." Dean sighed, and suddenly Castiel's brow creased. "Of course, if you don't want to talk about it-"

"No, no, fine, I'll explain myself." Dean drew a long breath and let it out. You're going to have to tell this story when you get home, think of this as practice, he told himself. "So I've got a brother Sam, right? He's seventeen, he's gonna be a senior in September, and after that comes college, and he's a smart kid, I know he can do everything I didn't, he can get into a good school, get a degree, get a good job, he can make a good life for himself. But… I don't wanna just be his failure big brother. I want to help him get where he's going. I've got a job back home, but its not going to pay college tuition.

"So, about a month ago, Bobby, this guy, he's basically been our dad for a few years, he gave Sammy a couple hundred bucks for his birthday. He told him it was for college. I mean, it's not much but its something. So I'm thinking, how am I going to come across enough money to even seem significant? Then it came to me. And at the time, it seemed like the perfect idea, and now I realize just how… stupid…" He pressed a palm to his forehead, but noticed that Castiel was listening intently, waiting for him to continue. "So I say to him, 'Sammy, I can make that money multiply.' He didn't want me to do it, but I did, and I took his money to Vegas."

At this, Dean expected laughter, or at least a disappointed look. Instead, Castiel's expression barely shifted. So, Dean went on.

"Now, I know, you're probably realizing what an idiot I am-"

"You're not an idiot, Dean."

The comment came unexpectedly, and he wasn't sure how to respond.

"Why don't you let me finish this story and then we'll see what you think," he said. "So, I get to Vegas about a week ago with what, three hundred bucks? And I'm thinking I've got luck on my side, for whatever fucking stupid reason, and I go straight to the blackjack tables. I'm pretty good at blackjack, I don't count cards or any of that shit, I just know how to play the game. I play a couple hands and I'm up about a hundred bucks, and the chick who was sitting next to me asks to buy me a drink. Her name was Lilith.

"So at the bar, she starts telling me that she can get me anything I want if I can do something for her, telling me I looked like the guy for the job. I know, right away this just sounds like a complete scam, and I know a scam when I see one. But I just kept listening, and everything she said made the deal sound better and better and it made me think I could walk away with the money I wanted for Sammy. It sounded simple, like if I could just make it go off without a hitch, I could walk away happy There was this other chick, Bela, and Lilith wanted me to steal something from her room. Well, she said it technically wasn't stealing because it was rightfully hers and all this bullshit… But she pointed her out to me and I figured the best way to get into her room was to… seduce her, you know? I figured, I'm in Vegas, I can pull a whole suave, secret agent deal.

"Turns out she's not the seducing type, she's more like a… Charlie's Angel gone solo-type and she kicked my ass when we got to her room because she had been on to me the whole time.. So Lilith found out I failed her little mission and basically, they took everything, Sammy's money, my money, my phone, everything, I don't even have change for a pay phone, I was lucky enough hitch a ride with a trucker for a few hours before he started going out of my way, and then I was walking, and now you." Dean stopped for breath, finally.

"That wasn't as long as I was expecting," Castiel observed.

Dean shifted in his seat. "Well, I condensed it for… my own sake."

"Was Charlie an enemy of Lilith's?" Castiel asked.

"Who?"

"You said Bela was affiliated with a Charlie."

"Oh, no," Dean said, realizing what he was talking about. "I said she was like a solo Charlie's Angel or something."

"Is that was Charlie calls his operatives?"

Dean stared at his newfound friend. "Dude. Charlie's Angels. Like the movie?" Castiel was still lost. "Are you serious? You've never heard of Charlie's Angels?"

"There is a great deal of popular culture I am not familiar with…" Castiel stated, avoiding Dean's gaze.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean said, deeply disturbed by this new information. "Have you like, never seen a movie in your life or something freakishly weird?"

"I've seen movies," he protested. "Just not many."

"I mean, you've seen like, The Godfather, right?"

No response.

"Come on man, Pulp Fiction?"

Nothing.

"Back to the Future? You have to have seen like, A Christmas Story, they literally play it on repeat every December."

"My family never really had an interest in television or movies," Castiel explained sheepishly.

"What about like, friends' houses, don't you ever watch TV with friends?"

"I never had many friends. Mainly my brothers and sisters."

Dean was understanding this kid less and less. "You're gonna have to explain this oddball family of yours." He watched Castiel's expression fall. "I mean, unless you don't want to talk about them, I get it."

Castiel sighed. "No, I owe you an explanation, you told me your story. I must warn you, this is also a very long story." He looked for a moment as if he was collecting his thoughts, maybe deciding where to start. "My family is… very different. It stems from my father, really. He was, as I said, very immersed in Christianity. He had a strict set of beliefs that he felt should always be adhered to. My mother died when I was just very young, and my brothers are much older than me. When I was born, Michael was 12, Lucifer was 11, Raphael was 9 and Gabriel was 8. They do not share a mother with me. My sister Anna does, she is four years younger than me. My father was not often around when we were growing up. He fully trusted my brothers to raise Anna and I, and Michael and Raphael did. They taught us everything our father believed in, they steered us away from sin and impurities, they sheltered us from most of the world.

"One day, my father stopped coming home. I haven't seen him in twelve years. We were never sure where he went, but Michael had such a deeply ingrained faith in him that he never doubted his love for us. Personally, I can't imagine how a father who loves his children could disappear without notice. So, Michael picked up the role of head of the family full-time, even though he'd been pretty much playing the role for years.

"I can't remember Lucifer every actually being around. Michael sent him away when I was too young to remember. Gabriel said they were perpetually at odds, and that Lucifer didn't even want to be there, so leaving was not at all against his will. Gabriel disagreed with Michael as well, he was wild and rebellious and wanted to experience the world that our brothers shut out. He left when I was sixteen and I don't believe he's stayed in one place since. I rarely communicate with him. He is the only of my brothers I have ever been able to tolerate, even though Michael scolded him constantly for being a bad influence on Anna and I.

"I'd been thinking about how to leave for a very long time. I felt guilty that I'd have to leave Anna, because she can't stand Michael's reign anymore that I can. I thought maybe I'd try to find Gabriel, or maybe our cousin Balthazar, but I had no idea how to go about finding either of them. I have been quarreling with Michael and Raphael more than usual, and tonight I had the worst falling-out with my brothers I've ever had. Michael taunted me with the idea of picking up and leaving like Gabriel, and I actually did. And they let me go."

Suddenly, Castiel looked over at Dean with questioning eyes.

"I'm listening," he assured him.

"I'm sorry, I kind of began to rant," Castiel said.

"It's fine, man, I get it, you need to blow off some steam."

Castiel nodded gratefully. "It actually was relieving to tell someone all of that. Thank you for listening, Dean. Really."

"Any time, man," Dean said. "Especially if we're going to be spending the next few days together." Dean processed this information again. "Look, are you sure you want to do this? I have nothing. I can't repay you for this at all. At least not immediately."

"As you can see, I have nothing better to do." Castiel smiled humorlessly.

"Well, thanks man," Dean said with sincerity. "I don't think I can begin to say how much I appreciate it."

Dean watched Castiel's face in the darkness as it was illuminated on and off by the lights they passed. He thought for someone who had just severed his relations with his family, pretty much the only people he'd known all his life, he seemed relaxed. His face was placid, his mouth not quite a smile but nowhere near a frown. His eyes were focused on the road, and they were a perfect blue. There was a calming quality to his presence, and Dean felt the effects of an enormous amount of stress and sleeplessness creeping up on him.

He was asleep before he could even tell Castiel he was just going to shut his eyes for a bit.

He was awoken by someone calling his name.

It was Castiel.

"Hm?" Dean asked, snapping to the land of the living.

"I just stopped at a gas station and I bought you a prepaid phone." Castiel was handing him a foreign object that was cased in thin yet stiff plastic. He blinked, trying to shake off sleep and comprehend what was going on.

"Huh?" he said after a futile moment of thought.

"I got you a prepaid cellphone at a gas station," Castiel repeated. "So you can call your family and let them know where you are."

"Wow, thanks, man," Dean said, surprised by the random generosity but too groggy to properly convey his appreciation. "How long have I been out?" he asked, squinting to read the time.

"About four hours," Castiel said as Dean was able to make out "3:34" on the car's clock.

"Shit, really?" he muttered.

"I was going to stop at the next motel I saw."

"Alright, sounds good," Dean said, straightening up. "I feel like an asshole not being able to pay for anything." He looked at the new phone in his hand. "This is great, man, you really didn't have to."

"There's no reason to feel bad, honestly, I have more than enough money to last the two of us a few days," Castiel said, not at all gloating, simply stating facts.

"Well," Dean said, "you're probably never going to hear the end of it because I can't offer you anything other than relentless appreciation."

Not long after, they found a formidable motel along 1-15. They checked in and went straight to their room, Castiel nearly collapsing onto the bed nearest the door.

"You're not used to driving long distances, are you?" Dean asked, bemused by his exhaustion. He had been left feeling awake and refreshed by the sleep he'd managed to get in the car.

"Not at all," Castiel answered.

Dean looked at the prepaid phone Castiel had bought him. "You know," he said, "I'm going to call home now and leave a message. They've got to be asleep and it'll just be easier explain myself that way than having someone on the other line."

"Okay," Castiel murmured, quite nearly asleep.

Dean opened up the phone and turned it on, setting it up for usage. He walked outside so that Castiel could get the sleep he deserved.

In the warm air of the late summer night, Dean began pacing back and forth before he even dialed Bobby's number. He rehearsed his message over and over, making sure he didn't cause anymore worry for Bobby and Sam than was due. When he finally felt that he had it, he dialed and held the phone to his ear, knowing he still had a moment before it rang out and went to Bobby's machine.

"Hello?"

"Shit- Bobby?"

"Who is this?"

This was not how Dean was anticipating this situation to go. He thought he'd leave a simple message and be done with it. Now he had to do exactly what he was trying to avoid by calling at this time.

"It's me, Bobby," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's Dean."

Nothing came from the other end for a moment. Then Bobby's voice came, gruff and terse.

"Boy, would you mind telling me why the hell your cell phone number is disconnected?" Dean tried to get words in but was shut down as Bobby continued. "And why you're calling from a strange number at 3 in the morning?"

"It's a prepaid phone," was all he could think of to say.

"And what happened to yours."

Dean slid a hand down his face, debating whether he should load it all on him now or hold off until they were face to face.

"Look, Bobby, I can't talk long," he lied. "It really doesn't matter right now, I just wanted to make sure you knew I was alright."

"Oh, well thanks for letting me know," Bobby spat. "I'm glad you could fit it into your busy schedule of whatever the hell it is you're getting up to to tell us you're okay. I wasn't aware we should have been expecting you to not be okay!"

"No, no, it's just-" Dean sighed heavily. "I'm fine. That's all. I'll be home in a couple days. I'll call again at a better time, bye."

"If you have the guts to hang up on me, boy, I will tear them ou-"

Dean ended the call before the threat was completed and turned the phone off before Bobby could think to call back. Well, that had gone exactly how he hadn't wanted it to. He dragged his feet back to the motel room.

When he opened the door, the lights were out and he could hear the heavy breathing of a sleeping Castiel. He decided not to bother with but kicking off his shoes. He slapped the phone down on the side table, climbed on top of the empty bed's covers, and stared at the ceiling for long enough to fall asleep again.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean opened his eyes the second they detected light. He was launched into a sudden, short-lived panic as he found himself in a strange place. His mind cycled through confusion, recognition, then remembrance. A door opened and he found the reason he was here.

Castiel, his newfound friend, his savior, to be quite honest, stepped out of the bathroom looking freshly showered. Dean slowly sat up, seeing that the clock across the room read 10:23. Suddenly, he was extremely put off by the fact that essentially, the only belongings he still had were the clothes on his back, the old jeans, the t-shirt and the worn button-down he'd slept in. Even if he showered, he'd have to put these clothes back on.

"Sleep well?" Castiel asked, dropping his duffel bag on the table and sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"Yeah," Dean said, sleep still in his voice. "You?"

"Very soundly, especially after driving for so long." He began to pull his shoes on.

"When do you want to head out, soon?"

"It's up to you," Castiel replied. "I'm assuming you want to shower."

"Yeah," Dean said, stretching and putting his feet on the ground. "It's gonna suck though, I have no other clothes and these are getting disgusting."

Castiel gave him a pitiful look. "We'll stop somewhere today and get you a change of clothes."

"Man, I have no money-"

"If you keep saying that, it's going to become redundant."

Dean stared at him in disbelief of the fact that he had somehow found the single most compassionate and generous person on the road just when he needed him. He contemplated this all through his quick shower. Castiel passing by when he had been was pure luck, not something that was usually on his side. He had swooped into Dean's life nearly twelve hours ago, like an angel or something, and had gently lifted him out of his catastrophe. On top of that, he was asking nothing in return. Dean was familiar with how good things in his life usually ended up: bad. Something told him not to rely on Castiel, that this situation couldn't last, but for now, he didn't have a choice.

They checked out a bit before eleven, and it was only then that Dean learned they were just outside Salt Lake City.

"Shit," he muttered. "I must have been like the walking last night or something, I didn't even know where we were."

"It's one of the only places I know my way to without directions," Castiel explained. "I figured I'd get here and decide where to go from this point."

"I'm guessing that fancy-ass car of yours has a GPS," Dean said, nodding at the white BMW as they approached it, parked outside their room.

"Yeah," Castiel said. "I just need to figure out how to use it."

"What's the model?" Dean asked, sliding a hand over the trunk. "745I," he read from the silver characters on the back.

"I suppose that's what it is, yes," Castiel said, walking around to the driver's side.

Dean shot him a look. "You didn't know?"

"I didn't think it was important," he said, getting in the car.

Dean immediately took his place in the passenger's seat.

"Dude. A man should know his car inside and out," Dean reprimanded. "Think of all the things you depend on her for."

"Her?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, isn't that how it works? Vessels of transportation are all female, like ships and all?"

Castiel's brow was knit, lost in this subject as he pulled out onto the highway. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Whatever man, the point is, know your car!" He looked around at the smooth leather seats. "I mean, she's gorgeous, how could you not?

"I'm assuming you have a car, then," Castiel said, changing the subject from his apparent vehicle neglect.

"Yeah," Dean said wistfully. "My baby's sitting back home, waiting eagerly for my return. She's a 1967 Chevy Impala but she doesn't look a day over twenty-five." Dean shot him a cheeky grin.

"And I suppose you love each other very much."

"A bond between a man and his car is unlike any other," Dean said as if he was imparting some priceless bit of wisdom unto Castiel.

When they drove into Salt Lake, Castiel took a turn into the first shopping complex they passed. Dean followed him into a Walmart and gave him a look when he tried to hand him one hundred and fifty dollars.

"Buy yourself some clothes and the essentials. And something to carry it all in if you desire," Castiel said, pushing the cash into Dean's hands. "If you need more money, just let me know."

"Dude, I-"

"Don't say it, Dean," Castiel said. "I told you, it doesn't matter."

Dean picked himself up an outfit that was basically a replica of the one he was wearing in different colors. He also selected a cheap, nondescript duffel bag and a bunch of toiletries to fill it with. He took care not to surpass the amount of money Castiel had given him, buying only the cheapest he could find of everything. When he returned to Castiel, he felt less like a hopeless hitchhiker and a bit more like a passenger. It felt good, refreshing, like he was getting back on the right track.

"You know, I'd be happy to drive some, if you want," Dean told him as they walked back to the car. "We could take it in shifts. Come on, man, it's literally the least I could do."

"Alright," Castiel said, tossing him the keys. Dean caught them with no hesitation.

"You trust me that easy?" he asked, unlocking the doors.

"You haven't given me any reason not to so far." Castiel ducked into the car as Dean opened the trunk to toss in his new belongings. He found that it was already quite filled. Inside were several packed bags of various sizes. Dean assumed Cas was serious about ditching his family; he probably had everything he owned tucked into this car. Not to mention the plentiful money he had no hesitation forking over. The guy was set. As he closed the trunk and walked around to the driver's side, he wondered about several things. One of those things was Castiel's plans for the future. Another, however, was the source of his abundant funds.

"So where does all this money come from?" Dean asked, sitting behind the wheel and fumbling with the keys.

"Here," Castiel said, gesturing for him to hand them over. He took the ring of keys and sought out a little black box, which he inserted into a slot by the wheel. The car then turned on.

"I don't even know what just happened," Dean said, shaking his head slightly.

"Keyless ignition," Castiel explained.

"That's just pretentious," Dean said, putting his hands on the wheel and getting his bearings about the strange, new vehicle. "I prefer the more… classic style car. The kind that actually uses, you know, keys?"

Castiel configured the car's GPS system to take them from Salt Lake City to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. They'd drive as much as they could in a day, and rest as needed until they got there. Dean didn't appreciate being bossed around by a snooty car and didn't hesitate to talk back to it, much to Castiel's amusement.

"Turn the radio on," Dean said, not long after they'd started off. "I like to drive with music."

Castiel obliged, manning the controls. "Do you have a particular station you like? I don't typically use the radio."

"Of course you don't," Dean said with a smirk. "I normally just jump around looking for something good."

He could tell by the look on Castiel's face that he had no way of gaging what "something good" was, so he just started skipping through the stations, waiting for a reaction. He hit a station that was playing ABBA, and earned a fleeting glare from Dean when he stopped.

"This has a nice energy," Castiel observed.

"Dude," Dean said curtly. "Are you a girl?"

Castiel's hand returned to the control and he continued to search through stations. He nearly skipped by one that was just beginning The Gambler by Kenny Rogers.

"Hey, hey, go back to that."

He did. Dean began tapping the beat on the steering wheel with his fingers.

"I take it you know this song?"

"Yeah, it's just one of those oldies, you know?" Once again, Castiel conveyed a complete unspoken statement in just a look. "You don't." Dean sighed, although he was more amused than exasperated in any way. It had just occurred to him that this type of naivety when it came to such classic popular culture would normally tick him off. But, something about Castiel's inquiring stares and the questions behind his eyes made it endearing.

Instead of driving in silence, Dean took this time to ask one of his burning questions.

"So Cas," he said. "If you don't mind me asking, where does all your money come from? Did you have some kind of amazing job back home or something?"

"I'm a bit ashamed to say I didn't work for it at all," he said.

This is it, Dean thought. This is where he admits he's a bank robber of international proportions.

He continued. "Ever since Gabriel left, he's sent worrisome amounts of money each month to me and Anna both."

"What do you mean by worrisome?" Dean asked, thoroughly relieved by this response.

"The means by which he's acquired it are almost certainly unsavory."

"What, is he some kind of high-end male prostitute?" Dean asked jokingly.

"I honestly have no idea," Castiel said with laughter behind his smile. "I've had no correspondence with him in years. He sends the money without return addresses, no notes or letters either. Sometimes its international. Anything that he could be doing to earn the money wouldn't surprise me."

"Sounds like a fun guy," Dean said. "A good guy, too, if he still stops every once in a while to load his siblings with shady cash."

"I've never had much of a reason to spend it before, I've always just saved it," said Castiel. "I suppose this is why. I don't know what I'd be doing without it right now."

Dean laughed. "Neither do I."

"What do you do for income back home?" Castiel asked.

"I've got a job that I'm pretty much stuck in for the rest of my life," Dean told him. "I mean, I like it, I don't mean that it's a bad thing or anything, it's just… It's a mechanic business my dad and Bobby started together. It's in the family and I've been working in it ever since I was a teenager, and I know my dad wanted me to take it on…"

"Is your father…" Castiel began to ask.

"Dead? Yeah, two years ago."

"I'm very sorry, Dean."

"It's alright, man, it's life."

"And your mother?"

"She died when Sam was a baby."

"So you and your brother live with Bobby," Castiel said, putting it together. "Does Sam work with you, too?"

"Nah," Dean said. "Dad and Sammy never agreed on anything. They had different plans, and were both too damn stubborn about it. Sam wants nothing to do with the stupid family business."

"You care very much for Sam," Castiel said, as a statement, not a question.

"I've spent my whole life looking out for him, you know?" Dean said. "He's always been my responsibility, even when Dad was alive. 'Watch out for Sammy,' that's all I've ever had to do. And I didn't go to college, so it's my job to make sure he gets there. And I fucked that up, too…" He trailed off as the memory of his mistakes came flooding back once again. His face hardened and his grip tightened on the wheel.

"You can fix your mistakes, Dean," Castiel said.

"Yeah, well how many times am I going to have to-" he began to snap. He sighed and shut himself up. "Forget it. Forget my stupid mistakes. Tell me about your brothers. Or the younger one, your sister. That's the one you like, right? Tell me about her."

"Anna? She's 18-"

"Just a year older than Sammy? Maybe we can do a little match-making, he's tall for his age," Dean joked.

"I highly doubt it," Castiel said, with a smile. "I don't think Anna likes the concept of being tied down."

"Wild child?"

"She has a fiery personality," he explained. "She's more rebellious than I am, if she were any older she would have been the one to leave first. But since Michael still regards her as a teenager, he feels he still has control over her."

"Well, that's bullshit," Dean said. "Legally, she's an adult."

"My brothers don't see it that way," he said. "I think I feel guiltiest about leaving her alone with them. Don't they see that they've pushed us all away, one by one?"

Dean looked over at him and he was staring out the window, as if he was trying to push some of his thoughts to the roadside.

"Well look at us," Dean said. "Aren't we a couple of guilt-ridden bastards." He glanced over with a grin he hoped would have a lightening effect. It did, as Castiel allowed himself to smile back.

For hours they drove through miles of nothing, every so often passing through towns that assured them that Wyoming was linked to society in some way. They switched off driving every few hours, mostly as a result of Dean's violent arguments with the GPS.

"There is no need to shout, Dean," Castiel would say. "She is being nothing but calm and rational."

This would then push Dean to grumble something about how she was just trying to make him look like the bad guy, he wasn't going to be told what to do by a stupid little screen with a creepy voice.

They talked about their lives, their childhoods, their futures, and in a matter of several hours, it was hard to believe they'd been complete strangers twenty-four hours previous. Dean felt comfortable with Cas, like he had always been there. He felt compelled to make him laugh, and that was always a sign that Dean liked someone. And Castiel made him laugh, too, but it never seemed deliberate. He was just a funny person, with a funny stare and a funny way of speaking. He was, to be quite cliche, unlike anyone Dean had ever met. He found this very easy to get used to.

That night, they pulled into the city of Casper, Wyoming and sought out a cheap motel, depositing their belongings in a room.

"Any idea where we can get something to eat?" Castiel asked as they threw their things on the beds.

"I saw a couple places on the way in," Dean pointed out. "I suggest we go do that now rather than later. I'm starving."

"Agreed," said Castiel, opening the door so they could leave before even settling in.

As they got in the car, Dean said, "I know you don't want to hear it anymore, but I still feel like a dick having you pay for motels and meals and everything."

"Remember when I said it would become redundant?"

"I know, but-"

"It's become redundant."

"Well you know what?" Dean said suddenly. "I'm going to pay for dinner tonight."

"And how might that be?" Castiel said with skepticism.

"Don't you worry, I'll find the money."

"Is this going to involve something illegal?"

"Not at all," Dean said, quite satisfied. "I'll have you know I am a master at hustling pool. So we just have to find a place with a bar and some pool tables, and I've got both our dinners taken care of."

Castiel chuckled and said, "Dean Winchester, you are the epitome of class."

"You shut your whore mouth, Cas" Dean said with a reluctant smile, jabbing a finger at him.

They found a place conveniently just down the road from their motel, a restaurant and bar. Through one of the front windows, they could see a people walking around pool tables through clouds of smoke at the back of the joint.

"Here we go, perfect," Dean said as they pulled into the parking lot. "Listen," he told Cas before they entered. "Just sit down and pretend you don't know me. Also, take note of the fact that I am not drunk and haven't had a single drop of alcohol tonight."

Castiel nodded.

"Yet," he added.

"Do you need money?" Castiel asked.

"Uh," he said, feeling in his pockets. The jingle of change could be heard from his right jacket pocket. "Nope I'm covered." Dean urged him forward with a gentle shove.

Castiel was slightly confused by the instructions, but wasn't about to start questioning things now. He opened the door to the dive and entered alone. It wasn't took crowded at all; the kind of place that draws what few regulars it has, and the occasional passerby or weary traveler. He awkwardly stepped through the dim, smoky room and up to the bar, where he ordered himself a beer which he knew he would not drink, and sat at a small table that faced the pool tables. He glanced toward the door, and through the window could see Dean waiting for the right time to enter. Castiel caught his eye, and he grinned what might have been the most suspicious grin he had ever seen.

The moment the door swung open, Dean was swaying ever-so slightly as he walked. He sauntered up to the bar, said something to the bartender, and then searched his pockets. He came up with only a handful of coins. The bartender raised his eyebrows and spoke, shaking his head. At this, Dean returned the change to his pocket, turned around, dejected, and approached the pool tables.

"Anybody looking for a a game of 8-ball?" he shouted across the bar, slurring only just noticeably. He took a pool stick off the wall and chalked the tip, taking his place at an unoccupied table. "Anybody?" he said, leaning to one side and then catching himself.

Castiel began to question everything Dean had said about his bad luck when he heard a couple a few tables away begin to speak.

"Look at him," said the woman. "He's blasted drunk and he's trying to win money to buy another." She sipped her red-tinted drink and set it on the table, turning back to face the man across from her.

"I bet I could hustle him," he said, taking on an air of sudden confidence. He did not look like the confident type, with thick glasses perched on his mousy face. But, his proposition struck the girl with surprise that faded into confusion.

"Oh, Steven, don't start-"

"Look at him right now! He's practically tripping over his own feet! Anyone could beat him!"

With another bold look at the girl, Steven knocked back the rest of his drink and stood. He marched toward Dean, who pointed his pool stick at him.

"Up for a game?"

The girl ran up behind Steven, hissing "You don't even play pool!"

"I've got this, Marie," he shot back, lifting a stick from the rack on the wall. "What are we playing? Stripes and solids?"

"Sipes and strolids. Stripes and solids," Dean slurred. It stirred in Castiel the memory of what Dean had said before he entered. He wasn't the least bit intoxicated, but sure as hell seemed it. He wasn't acting over the top, he seemed perfectly natural.

"Wanna call it ten bucks?"

"Yeah," he said, thought he began shaking his head. "No. You know what? I'm gonna… let's I think let's call it fifty."

Steven turned around and raised his eyebrows at Marie. She threw her arms up in a huff, and then crossed them. "Whatever." Marie sat in a barstool, dark curls framing her indignant face. "I'm just going to sit here until you figure out what's wrong with this situation."

"You're on," Steven said, clearly trying to come off as much tougher than he actually is.

And so the game began.

Dean broke, or tried to, at least. The shot he made barely changed the formation of the balls, so Steven stepped up with an out-of-place cockiness and sent them skittering in all directions. The fifteen dropped into a pocket. "Stripes for me, solids for you, then." He positioned himself for another shot, missing it.

Dean walked around the table, slowly nodding, nearly tripping on one of the table's legs. He lined up what should have been an easy shot for the five into a corner pocket, but missed completely. Steven shot a grin at Marie, who just pursed her lips.

Steven sank another two, Dean missed again. The game went on like this for a while, Steven clearly winning throughout although Dean did sink the odd ball here and there by what looked like sheer luck. Steven gained confidence as the game went on, constantly shooting glances at Marie who offered only exasperated sighs. When Steven had come down to one ball to sink beside the eight, he had lost all reservations and doubt. At this point, he wasn't even trying, nor did he feel like he needed to. He missed a perfectly good shot, but let it roll of his back. He could make up for it, no doubt.

Now, Dean still had four balls on the table. If he were actually intoxicated, he would have had no chance in hell. There were only two people in the joint that knew better. It was Dean's turn, and Steven was leaning on the bar by Marie, trying to get her to lighten up. Dean locked eyes with Castiel, lost the distant, disoriented look he'd had all night for a split second, and winked.

He then set to the table, quietly and quickly knocking all four balls into the pockets, one after the other with expert ease.

Steven and Marie's faces snapped to the table, trying to calculate what had just happened. Instantly, Dean's drunken guise was back.

"Dude," he laughed. "That was so lucky." He bent to the table once more and shot the eight ball right into a side pocket without hesitation. He straightened up and put his stick back on the wall, as if there was nothing left to discuss. "I think we agreed on fifty?"

His opponent gaped at him while Marie pounded on Steven's arm, hissing about how stupid he is.

Dean tiled his chin down and smirked. "C'mon, no one likes a guy who skips out on a bet. Especially not in this kind of joint." Steven looked behind Dean and saw the other, hard-edged thugs who had their own game going but were beginning to take note of the situation.

"Steven," Marie said, her voice low and pinched. "Give him the money. We're going to get shot."

Without hesitation, Steven produced his wallet from his pocket and shoved a fifty dollar bill at Dean, who took it graciously.

"Thank you," he said, breezing by them, hearing Marie whisper to Steven, "What were you saying about you hustling him?"

As Dean passed by Castiel's table, he brandished the money with a snide smile and gestured for him to follow.

"I have to say, that was impressive," Castiel said, unlocking the car. Dean made a show of bowing before getting in.

"Well, dinner is on me, but we've gotta get the hell out of here," Dean said.

Castiel didn't need to be told twice. He sped out of the parking lot and down the road to find somewhere else to eat where they hadn't caused a commotion or robbed anyone blind.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: OH HEY ITS TWO MONTHS LATER AND I'M JUST UPDATING NOW WHOOPS? Seriously though this story has continuously been at the back of my mind, I've even had the fourth and fifth chapters written since July. Just whenever I would try to write this chapter, I'd be hit with serious writer's block. I even had it figured out for the most part, I just… didn't want to write it. So it's kind of subpar. But the NEXT chapter is something I was so excited about that I wrote it first, so… SORRY FOR THE DELAY and enjoy! C:**

* * *

"That," Dean said upon their return to their motel room, "is why I went to Vegas."

Dean had bought them dinner at a burger joint, then tried helplessly to shove the leftover cash at Castiel. He had simply shaken his head and said, "You need it far more than I do, why wouldn't you keep it?" Now, as they settled down on their respective beds, Castiel gave his odd tilt of the head with a curious look.

"It's that feeling when you take a risk and it all works out and you know it was worth it, you know?" The curiosity didn't fade. "I know, you don't know," Dean added. "But this is the kind of thing that makes me think I have a chance on something worthwhile."

"You have so much faith in luck," Castiel observed.

Dean huffed out humorless laugh. "I don't know what else to put my faith in."

They talked for quite some time, constantly learning new things about each other. They almost forgot they'd been strangers less than twenty-four hours previous. Dean learned that Castiel had graduated from a small community college with a degree in history. He could tell he felt he could have done much better. But his brothers held such tight restrictions on his choices. He found himself wishing Castiel had been given the chance to be his own person earlier, and was increasingly glad he'd finally broken out.

He told Castiel about Sammy and how he wanted to go to law school. He also told him how he hadn't even gone to college. He thought maybe this would bring about disapproval, but Castiel was just interested instead.

"Well, if you were to go to college, what would you go for?"

Dean had never given this too much thought. "You know, maybe I'd go for engineering, or something like that," he found himself saying. "I like machines, you know? I like to know how things work and I like to fix them when they don't."

Castiel nodded, about to say something else when a phone rang. He leapt from the bed and reached into his duffel bag, pulling out a cell phone Dean hadn't even seen since they met.

"It's Anna," he said, looking down at the device with a knit brow. "Hello?" He answered it as he swept out of the motel room for some privacy.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you answered," Anna said, hushed and tense.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked, almost sure of the answer.

"What do you think?" She snapped. "I'm not allowed to try to contact you. I'm at the library using the phone at the front desk, so I can't talk forever. Just tell me where you are and what you're doing and where you're going."

"Well," Castiel said, unsure of how to tell his story. "It's actually kind of complicated."

"I don't have time for complicated. Simplify it."

Castiel closed his eyes and focused on making this not sound foolish. "Last night, I met a guy named Dean and he needs help getting home to South Dakota, so I'm taking him there."

"What? Why?" She was suddenly panicked.

"I don't have anything else do."

"That's not what I mean, Castiel," she hissed. "You picked up a hitchhiker, you picked up a complete stranger with the potential to be a serial killer and you're taking him a thousand miles across the country?"

"He's not a serial killer, Anna," he assured her, although it was a rather weak point.

"And how long have you known him for? Twenty-four hours?"

"He's different, I can tell."

"The amount of times people throughout history have said that and been wrong-"

"You need to trust me, Anna," he said firmly. "Dean means me no harm, in fact, quite the opposite. I know his intentions are pure."

Anna was silent for a moment. "What, do you have a crush on him or something?"

"No, I-" He was caught off-guard by the question. "I have never known myself to harbor romantic feelings."

He could hear her sigh on the other end, probably signifying that she didn't believe him. "Just don't get killed. If you trust him, I trust you. Okay, this librarian is getting pissed, so I'll try to call you whenever I can, but I don't know when that will be."

"Try to behave. Just a little bit," Castiel said with half a smile.

"Yeah," she said with no indication that she would comply. There was a click and she was gone. Castiel was hit by a wave of sudden remorse. She was alone in that house with half her brothers gone, and the ones that remained were not the ones she wanted to be living with. As he walked back through the motel door, he hoped Dean would have fallen asleep, but he wasn't so lucky.

"What'd she say?" he asked.

"She just wanted to see how I was. And where I was."

"Did you tell her you picked up a wayward stranger?"

"She insisted you were a serial killer."

"Dude," Dean said, sprawling out on his bed. "It took me like, an hour to convince myself you weren't a serial killer."

Castiel grinned, sitting on the edge of his bed and depositing his phone on the nightstand. "Only an hour?"

"You're not that suspicious." He eyed the device Castiel had just put down. "You know I started to think maybe you didn't even have a cell but look at you with your iPhone."

He frowned at the thing. "I only really use it to make calls."

"Of course you do," Dean muttered, sliding the remote from the side table and beginning to flick through channels.

* * *

Dean surprised himself by waking up before Castiel upon hearing a distant rumble of early-morning thunder. He slid from his bed and went to the window, drawing back the heavy curtain. It seemed as though the sun was trying to rise but was shoved back down by menacing black clouds. Dean turned to the occupant of the other bed.

"Hey," he said, watching as Castiel stirred. "There's a storm coming in so we might want to get on the road and try to beat it." They were on the road within fifteen minutes, but it wasn't fast enough. The rain began to pound on the windshield, the wipers working overtime to keep Castiel's view clear. The intensity with which the rain drops pelted the road suggested the end of days was approaching. They could barely see the car in front of them, or if there even was a car in front of them. What Dean could see, however, was Castiel's tense grip on the wheel, nervous to drive in such apocalyptic weather. It hadn't been more than half an hour when Dean said, "This isn't going to work," and instructed Castiel to turn into the parking lot of a roadside diner. Castiel parked as close to the diner's door as possible and grabbed a tan coat from the backseat before they opened the doors.

"On three," Dean said, ready to plunge into the roaring storm. "One, two, three."

At once, they both opened their doors and sprinted around the car, Castiel waiting for Dean to meet him so he could attempt to shelter them both with the coat. They reached the door with heavy sighs of relief, shaking off water in the threshold.

"If we just wait it out in here, it's gotta stop sometime soon," Dean said. "Storms like this don't last more than an hour."

They were seated and given menus, but they were both ready to order within three minutes; they hadn't eaten anything before they set off. Dean looked up at Castiel, who was staring out the window with both hands on his coffee cup.

"I could tell you didn't want to be driving in that, and I don't blame you," Dean said.

"It'll pass soon enough, and we had to eat anyway."

Suddenly Dean felt like he should have offered to drive if it made Castiel nervous. But the truth is, he felt the same way. He just didn't feel like explaining why.

"What's the matter?"

"Hm?" Castiel was looking at Dean expectantly. "What?"

He shrugged. "It just seemed like you were bothered for a moment." They locked eyes for a moment while something came over Dean, an overwhelming trust in Castiel. He felt like he wanted to explain why being on the road in this kind of weather got the best of his nerves. And he found himself doing just that.

"Uh," he began, swiping a hand through his hair to rest on his neck, "truth is, driving in the rain scares the shit out of me."

Castiel tilted his head, probing Dean's mind with an inquiring gaze. "Why?"

Dean let out a breath. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. My… A couple years ago, I was in an accident with my dad and he didn't make it."

Sympathy flooded into Castiel's face and Dean remembered why he never talked about this. He didn't want anyone's sympathy. It doesn't change anything. But coming from Castiel, he found himself accepting it.

"I'm very sorry, Dean. I do understand the loss of a parent."

"It's fine," he said. They sat watching the rain until their food came, all the while Dean wondering why he'd been such an open book lately. It was like Castiel held this power to extract information from Dean without lifting a finger, in some cases information Dean didn't even know he possessed. Who'd ever asked him what he would have wanted to go to school for? Everyone always just asked why he didn't. Maybe, he thought, it was also that Castiel had little basis on which to judge him.

He was thinking too much. He looked around the diner while chewing his pancakes, looking for something to think about that wasn't himself or Castiel. He noticed, with great delight, that there was a small situation arising at the counter only a few feet away. He looked down at the table and engaged in some skilled eavesdropping.

"I promise I have the money, I just left my wallet in the car," a patron was saying to the young girl at the counter. She seemed flustered, afraid to upset the man but also afraid to do the wrong thing. "Take my word for it, I'll be in and out in two minutes."

"Okay," she said uncomfortably.

"Thank you," he said with genuine graciousness, and Dean was reminded of something although he couldn't put his finger on it. At that moment, Dean recognized the song that was softly playing from the ceiling. Jesus, was it following them? _The Gambler_ by Kenny Rogers, the second time he'd run into it in two days, actually set the spark of recollection ablaze.

_There had been a time, maybe five, six years ago, when Dean had sat in a diner much like this one with his father and Sam. "Ever heard of the Fiddle Game, boys?" They had shaken their heads, and Dad explained. It not as much a game as it was a cunning grift. To pull it off, you had to be so clever, and if you were clever enough, you could be walking away with thousands of dollars. More than that. The boys had been in awe at the idea, and a young and excitable Sammy had made Dean promise they'd pull it one day and become rich._

Dean listened to the chorus of the song; it seemed to be speaking to him.

_You've gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em  
__Know when to walk away, know when to run…_

Castiel was staring at him. Dean shook his thoughts away and almost immediately forgot the song.

"You seemed to be deep in thought. I didn't want to disturb you," Castiel said. The man who had been short of money came back in the door, wallet in hand, shaking off rain.

"Oh, yeah, I was just…" His eyes followed the man back to the counter where he paid for his meal, a clean and honest deal. "This song, remember it? It was playing in the car yesterday. I think it's following us around. Weird."

"Are you guys ready for the bill?" Their server, a tall, blonde girl about their age, was speaking mostly to Castiel. Her sweet voice was punctuated with a bright smile.

"Yes, please," he said.

"What a storm, huh?" she said, moving her blue eyes briefly to the window, and then back to Castiel.

He looked up at her while he fished for his wallet. "Yes, it was awful, that's why we stopped."

"Oh my god, you have such pretty eyes," she said. "Sorry, I love blue eyes."

"Oh," Castiel said, thrown off my the comment. "Thank you."

"I'll be back with your bill in a minute," she said, turning away.

Castiel looked back to Dean to see his eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Dude," Dean said. "She was hitting on you."

It was like the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "Oh."

"You should get her number."

Castiel's eyes widened and he searched his brain for a response.

"I don't… I don't really do that."

"Why am I not surprised?" Dean said with a grin.

The waitress returned to give them the bill, and Castiel's eyes were suddenly glued to the rain that had reduced to a manageable drizzle. Dean took it and thanked her, and when she walked away, Castiel let out his breath and glanced at him as if he had just dodged a bullet.

This amused Dean to no end, but something started clicking in his head. Castiel had just left home after a fight with his psycho family with old-fashioned religious values. He didn't even consider the idea of a girl showing interest in him, and had no interest to show back.

_Shit_, he thought. _Maybe he's gay_. It would explain the falling out with his brothers. Dean found himself realizing how right the waitress was. The kid had gorgeous eyes.

"Are we ready to go?" Castiel asked, snapping Dean from his thoughts. He was shrugging on the tan trench coat that he had pulled from the car to use as a makeshift umbrella.

"Oh, yeah," he said, looking at the money left on top of the bill. "Dude, just let me pay for myself, I've got money left from last night."

The corner of Castiel's mouth lifted and he got up from the table without another word. He didn't even look behind to make sure Dean was following.

"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered. He caught up as they reached the door, and he slipped fifteen bucks into the pocket of the coat. Castiel noticed and lifted his arm.

"What are you doing?"

"You've got to let me pay you back somehow," Dean said, walking to the passenger's side of the car. Castiel reached into the pocket and pulled out the money.

"Dean-"

"Keep it," he said, ducking into the car, continuing when Castiel got in beside him. "I hate that stupid money-tennis thing when you keep trying to hand it back and forth- just keep it."

"Fine," Castiel said with a defeated smile. "You win this time."

* * *

They had been driving in silence for some time, mostly because Dean appeared to be sleeping. He wasn't. He was just curled up in the seat with his back to Castiel. Suddenly, Dean repositioned himself to be sitting flat in the seat.

"I've been trying to think of ways to make my money back."

Castiel glanced at him. "Well you can get back to work when you get-"

"No, no, no." Dean shook his head. "I mean, I want to make a lot of money, and fast."

Castiel didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm not helping you rob a bank."

Dean chuckled. "That's not what I mean. Like, hustling pool makes a quick buck, but I want to make up for what I lost."

"This still sounds like major theft to me."

"No, man," Dean said, and let out a breath before he continued. "I know this probably clashes with your whole sheltered, moral lifestyle but I'm talking about scams. Big-time scams. Cons. The kind you can get away with."

"What?"

"I'm serious. I can feel my luck changing. For real this time."

"Is that what you told yourself before you went to Vegas?"

"No-"

"You're the one saying you have to stop pushing your luck, and even after successfully hustling pool, you want to pull a con?" Castiel glanced at him and saw the glint in his eye. "You have a plan."

"I might," he replied, relaxing in his seat a bit. "You ever heard of the fiddle game?"

"I believe I've actually read about it, yes," Castiel said. "It's the one where the man forgets his wallet and leaves his violin as collateral and everything, right?"

"That's the one. It's a two-man job."

Castiel made the mistake of looking over at Dean at this moment. He fell victim to an expectant grin, one that blended his charm and charisma into a blatant proposal. He smiled and shook his head.

"I'm not a con-artist, Dean."

"Anyone can be a con-artist if they want to be!"

"Who says I want to?"

"See, I know you want to a little bit because you're smiling and you think it would be cool."

Dean had him there. Castiel was silent for a moment, amused and contemplating. "I'm fairly sure neither of us have a readily available violin."

"It doesn't have to be a violin, we can make a few modifications." Dean looked up in thought. "I was thinking… a watch, maybe?"

Castiel nodded. "That could work."

"We could get a cheap one from anywhere and play it up to be expensive."

Once again, the driver was silent in thought.

"What would this venture require of me?"

While Castiel's eyes were on the road, Dean pulled a discreet, victorious fist-pump to himself. "Well, there are two parts to play; I'll take the more complicated one if that makes you more comfortable."

"I didn't quite agree to this yet," Castiel said, as if he wasn't even sure of it.

"Dude. Yes you did."

"I must have missed that."

"What do we have to lose?" Dean said, throwing his hands up. "If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. If by some miracle it does, we walk away with a shitload of money."

Castiel held his small smile for another minute. Then he said, "Okay."

* * *

**A/N: If you're not familiar with the song that keeps being referenced, it's The Gambler by Kenny Rogers. Here, have a listen (remove the spaces): www . youtube watch?v =8tSo4IICBTY**  
**Also, I actually did a really awful cover of this song. I'm sure that's spiked your interest. But just in case it actually has: www . youtube watch?v =wB-Gs_aM9jI**


	4. Chapter 4

Tom Harris was serving his few afternoon regulars at his sleepy diner in Rapid City. He'd owned the place since his father died and passed it on. Being so close to a massive national monument had paid off over the years. They were never quite busy, but somehow never short of profit. In fact, quite the opposite. Now, Tom managed it alone, to pass the time if for no other reason. He was getting old, but he didn't have anything else to do.

On this day, a particular young man entered, with a down-on-his-luck air about him. He was donning a worn trench coat over a wrinkled white button-down, looking disheveled with his hair uncombed. On his wrist, however, was a perfect, timeless watch. It sparkled in contrast with the rest of his shabby get-up. Whether it was new or simply well-cleaned was unclear. He took a seat at the counter, squinting at the menu board.

The old man, who had owned and worked in the place for decades, approached the boy to serve him. He ordered a modest meal of coffee and a grilled cheese and asked to see a newspaper while he waited. Tom didn't appreciate the boy borrowing something most patrons paid for, but he gave in anyway. When his food arrived, he attempted to make polite conversation with Tom but he wasn't having any of it. His uninterested one-word responses shut his patron down and he quit bothering him. When it came time to pay his bill, the boy seemed to discover a problem.

"I forgot my wallet," he admitted, full of genuine remorse. He looked up at the man with melancholy eyes. "I'm so sorry, I left it in my car, its parked at a friend's house."

Tom was just impatient to know what stilted deal the boy was getting at. He did look thoroughly disappointed in himself, though.

"I could run and get it, it wouldn't take more that twenty minutes," he said apologetically.

_There_ was the catch. Of course, a structured dine-and-dash.

"Couldn't you call your friend and have him come bring your wallet?" Tom suggested, fully expecting an excuse as to why not.

"He's at work," the boy told him. "I'm not lying, I will come back. I wouldn't dream of stealing from you."

Tom stared the boy in his sad, blue eyes and saw something that made his years of practiced resolve waver. The kid actually seemed regretful at the idea of not paying for a meal. Tom had been running this tourist-trap for years and had made his fair share of profit, what with the crowd Mt. Rushmore brings to Rapid City. Quite honestly was doing perfectly fine for himself. But for some reason, the idea of being shafted of any income whatsoever made a tiny part of Tom's soul ache.

"I can't let you do that, kid," Tom growled.

"Here," he said, suddenly stricken by an idea. He began to take off his watch. "I'll leave this as collateral. This watch," he said, holding it up for Tom to see, "has been in my family for generations. It matters to me more than anything I own. I don't know how to prove it to you, but it's not something I'd forget about if I leave. You have to believe me." He put the watch down on the counter.

Tom thought about it; it made sense. If he left the watch, he'd go get his wallet and return for the heirloom with the money he owed. All his life, Tom's been able to spot a liar and this kid just wasn't one.

"If you're not back in twenty minutes, I'll find you and have you tried for petty theft," Tom threatened, the boy's face lighting up.

"Thank you so much," he said, sliding off his seat and high-tailing it out of Tom's diner. The old man took the dishes back to the kitchen and started a mental timer for twenty minutes.

Nearly ten minutes later, another young man swept into the diner, with his slicked back hair and classic suit. He walked up to the counter and stared at the menu, running a hand down his blue and red striped tie and not even bothering to sit. Tom leaned on the counter in front of him.

"Hi, can I just grab a large coffee to go?" he said.

"In a rush?" Tom asked, turning away to the coffee maker.

"I have to be somewhere a lot sooner than I thought," the man explained, following it up with the toothy grin of a businessman. For a moment, Tom thought to ask him where he worked but he realized he didn't quite care. He was putting a lid on the man's coffee cup when he spoke again.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed quietly. When Tom turned around, the man was fingering the watch on the counter. "Is this yours?"

"No, it's some kid," Tom said. "He forgot his wallet and left it as insurance."

"Well that was stupid, does he know what this is?"

"What is it?" Tom asked.

The man whistled in disbelief. "It's a 1943-" he stopped himself and rearranged what he was going to say. "It's a really old, _really_ rare watch. And damn, it is in good condition. This thing could sell for thousands."

"How many thousands," Tom deadpanned, suddenly interested as he slid the coffee over the counter.

"Oh, about thirty," the man stated bluntly. "I deal in jewelry sales. You know, I bet my boss would _kill_ to get his hands on this thing. Who did you say owns it?"

"Some young kid, he should be back in a few minutes if you want to stick around."

"Well he must polish it three times a day or something," he muttered. For a moment, the man looked conflicted. He looked at his own watch, and back to the one in his hand. "I seriously have to go, here." He reached into his jacket and produced a business card. He laid the watch back on the counter and slid the card next to it. "When the kid gets back, tell him to call my boss and ask to bring in the watch. He can make a lot of money off of this, make sure he knows that." He grabbed his coffee and speed-walked out of the diner.

Tom was now stuck staring at the watch. Had he said it was worth thirty thousand dollars? He was sure he had. That was a pretty sum of money. He had the business card and everything, he could pocket the watch and sell it later, feed the kid some bullshit about someone else stealing it… But then he remembered what it meant to the boy, all the sentimental value. He weighed this with the significance of monetary value in his head for a good while, long enough for the poor owner of the watch to come hurrying back, wallet in hand.

Tom made a decision, and that decision was that_ twenty_ thousand dollars was still a lot of money. He slipped the business card from the counter and into his pocket.

"Here," the kid said, panting as he removed bills from his wallet and handing them over. "I hope I didn't take too long. Keep the change as a token of my gratitude for being so understanding." The boy smiled sheepishly, and picked his watch back up.

"That watch of yours," Tom began. The kid looked up with curiosity. "You know how much its worth?"

"Not exactly," he admitted. "I just know its been in the family for years and years. I'm sure it has some value to it."

Tom nodded slowly. "I'll buy it from you. Ten grand, on the table."

The kid was completely taken aback. "What?" was all he could utter for a moment.

"I know a bit about watches," Tom lied. "I got to looking at yours while you were gone. It's a real treasure. Made in 1943."

"I never knew that," he said quietly.

"So what do you say," Tom said, resting on the counter. "Ten thousand dollars for your watch. Up front. Cash." He wasn't sure why he was about to fork over nearly all the cash he kept in the diner, but something assured him it was for a good reason.

"Are you serious?" the kid asked, not believing a bit of what was happening.

"Deadly," Tom said.

The internal battle was quite visible, as his brow knit and his eyes darted back and forth. Keep a priceless family heirloom, or put a price on it and make more money in three seconds than he'll make in a year? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"We have a deal."

Tom smiled. "Fantastic."

* * *

"We did it, baby, we did it!" Dean howled as they sped down the I-15, making their get away. On the console between them sat an envelope containing ten thousand dollars in cash. Their mark had handed it to Castiel with snide confidence. He had thought the watch his timid patron had in turn handed him was his ticket to twenty thousand dollars.

In truth, the amateur grifters had purchased it at a Walmart only hours before for forty bucks. It was actually a pointless sum to fork over for for a Walmart watch, but if all went according to plan, they would make up for it and then some. And things had definitely gone their way.

"I thought I'd feel guilty," said Castiel with an uncharacteristic smirk, "but I don't, really. You are a terrible influence, Dean Winchester."

Dean laughed, tearing the tie from his neck. "What can I say? I'm an older brother, it's my nature to be a bad influence." He looked at his partner in crime as he smiled and drove, and he could tell something had changed inside him. Castiel let himself do things he would have never done, and Dean thought Cas was maybe feeling free. Free from his family, free from his old life, free from himself. When Dean took his cue to exit the diner, he walked around the corner where the car was parked and waited there until Castiel made his grande finale.

They had set up a system in which they were able to hear each other's performances so as to stay coordinated. They kept their cell phones concealed in their pockets, on the line with each other and on speaker phone. Whoever was backstage at the moment would be muted and also mute their own receiver for safety. This way, the one waiting could hear all that happened on the other's end without blowing their cover.

When he heard the deal go through, Dean punched the air and let out a cry of victory. It also might have come with a stream of enthusiastic praise for Castiel that no one else could hear. He kept a constant eye on the rear view mirror, anticipating the moment when his accomplice came walking around the corner. When he did, he came with an envelope in his hand and a smile on his face. The smile hadn't faded for miles past Rapid City.

"Dude, you were awesome back there, though," Dean said. "I heard everything, you were perfect, you could have fooled _me_."

"I'm glad my skills in lying are that admirable."

"I told you, don't think of it as lying," Dean urged him. "It's acting. That was pure, Oscar-worthy acting."

Castiel laughed and his smile became modest. "You were equally skilled. I firmly believe that you could tell one person two conflicting stories and they wouldn't doubt either for a second."

"Was that a jab at my integrity?"

"Are you going to try to tell me now that it's not warranted?"

"Ouch!" Dean feigned a terrible wound to his side. "Cas, man, that hurts!"

Castiel smiled and sighed. "Despite your proven success rate, I don't think I can allow myself to follow you into trouble like that again."

"That wasn't trouble," Dean protested, "we got off scott-free, they can't catch us, they have nothing on us!"

"If you say so," Castiel conceded.

"Plus," Dean added. "I've already planned our next stunt." He turned to Castiel and stared solemnly. "I'm gonna steal the Declaration of Independence."

Castiel's face became doused with confusion. "That's not even plausible, what could you possibly do with the Declaration of Independence?"

Dean groaned and covered his face with his hands. "You've never seen National Treasure."

Castiel was silent.

"At _least_ tell me you know who Nic Cage is." He waited for a reaction. Nothing. "Dude, you have issues. When I get home, you're staying for at least a day and we're going to watch movies for twenty-four hours straight."

* * *

That night, they ate at a restaurant with tablecloths for the first time on their journey. Of course, the money was for Sam but they reasoned that having one quality meal and staying at a proper hotel for one night wasn't going to make a terrible dent in their newfound fortune. Castiel laughed at Dean's discomfort in the environment and his inability to comprehend the menu.

"Don't they have any normal food?" he grumbled, as he looked up to see his companion's amusement. "Oh, I'm glad you're right at home, you snobby… snob-person," Dean said, unable to fabricate an impressive insult.

They found a Holiday Inn in Buffalo Gap. Dean allowed Castiel to manage checking them in, afraid of severely messing up one of the only nice things they were allowing themselves. They carried their duffle bags up to a simple room on the third floor. When the door swung open, Dean made a show of dropping his bag to the ground and flopping onto the bed closest to the door, mumbling "Mine," facedown into the comforter. Castiel sat down on the other, watching Dean with a bemused gaze while reflecting on the past few days of his life. Tomorrow they'd drive into Sioux Falls and Dean would return to his brother and Bobby. Then what would Castiel do, carry out the aimless journey he was on before he picked Dean up?

On the other side of the room, Dean was having similar qualms. He wanted to get back to Sammy and Bobby more than anything. He couldn't wait to watch the kid's face while he told him the story of his past few days. But what about Cas? Was he ever going to see him again? He mentally kicked himself for being such a teenage girl and told himself he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

_Tomorrow_, he reminded himself, turning over on the bed he'd claimed to look at the ceiling.

* * *

That night, Tom Harris sat at his kitchen table with a glass of wine, a watch, and a business card. He picked up his phone and precisely punched in each of the numbers as they appeared on the card. The call could not be completed as dialed.

Maybe he hadn't been as precise as he thought. He tried again. The call still could not be completed as dialed.

_Maybe they turn their phones off at night_, he thought to himself. He'd try again around noon tomorrow, a time when such a business was bound to be open. Tom lifted the watch again and smiled into its face. He took note of what good care that kid had kept it in, and how much the thing must have meant to him to do so. For just a few seconds, he felt on the brink of guilt. It was washed away by the thought of twenty thousand dollars.

_Tomorrow_, Tom thought as he put down the watch, left his glass in the sink and turned out the kitchen light.

* * *

A/N: This is one of those pieces of fiction where everything works out in a very unrealistic manner. I justified this for myself with a concept I now call the Margate Principle. This does not need to be explained. But I was really excited to post this because I've had it written since mid-July. I just had to get over that speed bump of writer's block last chapter. Enjoy, and I love to hear what you guys think so reviews are great!


	5. Chapter 5

"What will you do when you get home?"

Castiel's voice turned Dean's head to see that he was perched on the edge of his bed, with his legs resting in the gap between them. Dean arose from his reclining position and mirrored Castiel's, their toes inches apart.

"Well," he began, "first I'm going to apologize for about two years, and then I'm going to give Sam and Bobby a complete recap of my week." He gave a humorless laugh. "And I'll give Sammy his money, of course."

"Are you going to tell him the dishonest means by which you acquired it?" Castiel asked, concerned. Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"Dude, are you serious? Absolutely."

Castiel tilted his head the way he does when baffled by Dean. "That's not the reaction I expected."

"Yeah, he's going to act appalled and all, but the truth is he's gonna love it. He's gonna think it's hilarious. I know that kid."

Castiel smiled. "The fondness you have for your brother is very endearing. I can't wait to meet him."

"You'll love him, man," Dean said and he grinned. "And he's gonna love you and all your nerdy intellect-shit, he's like that too."

Dean saw Cas smile ruefully at his feet. He had a feeling he was trying to move the conversation in a certain direction but wasn't sure how. As it happens, Dean was looking to talk about the same thing.

"Are you thinking about what happens after we get there?"

Castiel looked up, as if only slightly surprised that Dean seemed to be reading his mind. "I don't want to go back," he stated. "But I'm not sure where there is for me to go. I left without a destination in mind. Meeting you gave me a goal, a place to go."

They were silent for a moment before Dean spoke.

"You know," he said. "It's not much, but Bobby has a guest room. And he may grumble, but he actually loves company."

Castiel's eyes lit up. "Would he not mind?"

"Not at all."

"That would be amazing," Castiel said. "If I just had a place to stay for a few days while I figured out where to go-"

"Oh," Dean cut him off. "I was offering a little more than a few days."

Castiel cocked his head again. "What do you mean?"

"Honestly," Dean said, "you can stay as long as you want. And I mean it, seriously as long as you want."

Castiel was taken aback by the offer. He wasn't quite sure what to say, so he didn't say anything. Dean drew a large breath and let it out. He rose from his bed to sit down next to Castiel on his.

"Basically," he began, uncomfortable with what he was about to say, "These have been a hell of a three days, and I've never met someone that just… clicked with me so quickly, and… I don't want to just say goodbye to you."

Now that he had sufficiently turned this conversation into a living chick flick, Dean felt like punching himself in the mouth. But Castiel just stared at him with his funny, bemused gaze.

"What are you saying, Dean?"

"I'm saying- uh…" Dean knew what he was saying. And judging by the way the question was asked, so did Castiel. He figured there was only one way to properly convey it, and it had to be executed perfectly. So, in one smooth motion, Dean lifted his hand to turn Castiel's face to his and he kissed him.

Dean had no way of projecting Castiel's reaction to this. So when Dean felt him tense up under his touch, his heart began to sink. It nearly dropped to the floor when Castiel pulled away, his face panic-stricken.

Well, there it was.

Dean had managed to, within less than a minute, fuck up the best thing he'd had going for him in years. And worse than that, he had to face it now. There was no running away.

"I'm- I'm really sorry Cas, I thought-" he muttered with remorse.

"Dean…" Castiel said, trailing off.

On second thought, maybe running was the easiest option to take right now.

"I'm sorry," Dean repeated, quickly getting up and walking out the door.

* * *

The moment the hotel door slammed shut, Castiel realized what the proper action to take would have been in that situation. He was supposed to go after him, to stop him before he crossed the room, to tell him he had it wrong.

But Castiel did not move, as he found himself in a slight state of shock.

Dean had just walked out thinking he had been rejected. He probably thought he misjudged Castiel's sexuality, and had just royally screwed over the relationship, the friendship between them. None of these things were true. In fact, Castiel had found himself wanting to kiss Dean the moment he winked at him from across that bar, last night when he watched him cleverly hustle pool. Why did he think he'd so willingly followed him into the unfamiliar, unsavory world of grift? Castiel had helped him con a man out of ten thousand dollars today. Didn't that say something about his affection for Dean?

Quickly, Castiel took note of the fact that he had left his belongings and the money in the hotel room. He'd be back.

He knew what Dean thought because he knew what his own reaction must have wrongly conveyed. He was shocked by the sudden touch of Dean's lips. Not because he didn't want it, but because it surprised him. He wasn't expecting it, and hadn't felt anything like it before. The new sensation was overwhelming and he had just needed a moment to process it.

Dean had taken this for disinterest. Distaste, even. Castiel only wished he had said something other than his name, something that let him know how he actually felt. All he wanted to do right now was kiss Dean again. But, he'd have to wait for him to return.

Castiel laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, brutally beating himself up over the stupid mistake he'd made.

* * *

The first thought that crossed Dean's mind when the door slammed behind him was,_ I forgot my fucking room key._ He wasn't about to turn right back around, knock on the door and awkwardly ask for his key so that he could have a nice, angst-ridden walk without worrying about how he was going to get back in the room.

_Forget it,_ he told himself. He'd done it again.

He'd singlehandedly destroyed his own life with one stupid decision. How many times would he do this before he learned what risks were safe to take and which were sure to fail him? At this moment he found himself thinking about how he should have listened to the gambler's advice, the one from the old Kenny Rogers song:

_You never count your money when you're sitting at the table_

_There'll be time enough for counting when the dealing's done_

That was his problem, apparently. If he could ever just wait to count his blessings, if he could just _wait_ to bank on things he's sure of rather than things that he still had the chance of fucking up, he might not find himself in the plethora of bad circumstances he constantly did.

Dean didn't go far. He walked to the end of the hall, stopped in front of the elevators, and paced around a bit. He just needed to go back and explain himself, to apologize. Once he was through with that, he'd pick up and leave Castiel alone for good. He couldn't spend another five hours in the car with him, not now that he had violated the guy and completely encroached on his comfort zone.

He didn't want to go back right away. That would just make him seem like a drama queen, storming out for effect. So Dean got in the elevator and rode down to the lobby, where he sat in an armchair and watched people pass by. At this time of night, there were few businessmen and more night owls, giggling teenagers walking around in their pajamas, drunk couples stumbling in from a night out.

He soon found himself restless with the desire to set things right. He also realized that he'd just left Castiel alone to think about what had happened, confused and uncomfortable. He went directly back to the room, preparing himself a long speech on the way.

* * *

Castiel was roused from his dismal state by a firm knock on the door. A glance through the peephole revealed that it was Dean with his arms folded, looking down the hallway.

"I forgot my key," he grumbled as Castiel opened the door for him. He stepped aside to let him enter.

Dean swept into the room and stood it the middle of it with his back to Castiel. He looked like he was still trying to piece something together in his head. Unsure of who should speak first, Castiel chose.

"Dean-" He was immediately cut off as Dean launched into a spiel.

"Listen. My life is just a big pile of stupid mistakes gone wrong, and now I've made you one of them so I owe you an apology. I've spent the last three days with you, and you've been nothing but generous and understanding and supportive, and we really only just met. You told me about how religious your family is and how you don't fit in with them and you had a big fight, and then you were all put off by the waitress this morning, I kind of assumed… that you were... Like, I just put two and two together, but I'm shit at math so I shouldn't have trusted my own judgement-"

"Dean," Castiel said firmly, putting a stop to his speech.

"What," Dean asked, though it was more of a terse statement than a question.

Castiel took a few steps forward, planting himself right in front of Dean. "You're partly right."

Unsure how to take this, Dean waited for him to continue.

"I've never been sure of my sexuality, but it's not what the falling out with my brothers was over, I never even brought it up to them."

Dean blinked at him. "Oh. Then-"

"I've never kissed anyone, Dean," he admitted. "And I wasn't expecting you to kiss me. So when you did, I was kind of… shocked."

"That's… understandable," Dean said, still trying to assess the situation. "So you're saying…"

"I'm saying I should have explained myself before you walked out."

Dean's expression softened and relaxed finally. He gingerly took Castiel's wrists, letting his hands slide down and grasp his.

"So, it doesn't come as a shock this time," Dean said, his face very close to Castiel's, "I'm going to give you some warning. I'm about to kiss you."

Castiel said nothing, he just waited with his eyes half-closed. Dean closed the space between them and kissed him for the second time. This time, Castiel did not tense or flinch. He melted into the kiss, relishing in the moment, the newfound sensation. Dean took his hands from Castiel's and laid them on his face, letting one slide to the back of his neck and the other to his hair. For a moment, Castiel could not think of what to do with his own hands, so he simply wrapped them around Dean's back.

They stood like this for a good while, entwined in a kiss much better than their first. When they broke apart, Dean rested his forehead against Castiel's. Their eyes found each other and Dean smiled. Castiel looked something like a puppy who had just had a toy taken from its mouth. Dean chuckled at this and leaned in to kiss him again, this time sliding his hands to his waist and directing Castiel to walk backwards until he hit the bed. Dean slowly lowered them to the mattress, and he could feel Castiel's pulse speed up beneath him.

"Cas, I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do," he assured him. In response to this, Castiel reached up to wrap his arms around Dean's neck, pulling his lips down to meet his again. He could tell Dean was trying his best to be gentle, which was appreciated if only for the fact that Castiel had no idea what he was doing. Dean took the lead, slowly showing Castiel how to move his lips with his. Dean moved them up the bed, and rolled over so that they were both on their sides. He eased out of the kiss to look at Castiel again.

"I thought I'd lost you," he muttered, stroking his thumb over Castiel's cheek.

"What? When?"

"Not like, I thought you were going to die, I mean," Dean stopped and sighed. "I mean I thought I'd fucked up big time. Again. I was ready to pack up and walk out of your life when I came back."

"You're always the first one to doubt yourself, Dean," Castiel said. "I don't think I've doubted you once since we met."

Dean gave a remorseful smile. "So what about that offer? Do you want to come stay at Bobby's for a while?"

Castiel smiled and held Dean's gaze. "I think I've got a good reason to now."

Dean returned the smile, and kissed Castiel on the forehead. When he drew back, he closed his eyes for a long moment, looking about to fall asleep.

"I suppose its been a taxing day for the master conman," Castiel joked. It elicited a twitch of the mouth as Dean began to drift. Before he slept, he muttered something of which the only understandable word was "Cas" at the very end.

Castiel extracted himself from Dean's arms and stripped the bed that was meant to be his of its blanket. He brought it over to the bed where Dean had just fallen asleep on top of the covers. Turning out the light, he returned to Dean's side, and curled up again pulling the blanket over the two of them.

He recalled seeking refuge from a storm in a diner that morning. He also recalled essentially robbing one some time later. Somehow, he had ended up here, tucked into the crook of the arm of his partner in crime. It had been a long day, and the turns it had taken had been, to say the least, unexpected. If this was what life with Dean was like, and if he was going to be spending a lot of time with Dean in the near future, this was a life Castiel could definitely begin to appreciate.

* * *

Sunlight crept through a gap in the heavy curtains, hitting Dean's eye perfectly. He was not in the mood to get up whatsoever. As he woke, he felt a warm weight on his arm, the same form his other arm was draped over. He looked down to see Castiel's face tucked into his neck. The events of the previous night, and the previous day as a whole came flooding back. He smiled a slight, groggy smile and rested his lips on Castiel's forehead. Today, he'd finally get back to Sioux Falls, with Castiel, ten thousand dollars, and some rousing stories in tow.

It would be about a five-hour journey, so Dean wondered what time it was and when they should look to head off. His view of the alarm clock on the side table, however, was blocked by the sleeping person beside him. He tried to slowly and gingerly lift himself up a bit, craning over Castiel to see the time. The clock read 8:43. Despite his efforts, the arm that was under Castiel's head had shifted a bit to much and roused him. He took a first, deep waking breath and opened his eyes slightly.

"Hello," he grumbled groggily, closing his eyes again.

Dean gave a small chuckle. "G'morning," he said.

"Timeizit," Castiel asked.

"'Bout quarter of 9," Dean replied. "We have time."

It came to his attention that they were both laying on top of a fully-made bed, but there were blankets on top of them. At this time, he remembered that the room had a second bed and noticed that it was bare.

"Would have gotten a room with a single bed if I knew how things were gonna go," he remarked. He was awake now, and there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. He slid his arm from under Castiel's head and smoothed the his hair as he sat up. He'd give him a few more minutes.

As Dean got up from the bed, he realized they'd both fallen asleep in their day clothes. His jeans felt stiff and uncomfortable, so he thought he'd shower before putting another pair on.

When he got out of the shower, Castiel was still laying in bed, but his eyes were fully open.

"Good morning," Dean said again, dressed for the day and toweling off his hair.

Castiel sat up, smiling warmly at Dean. He took this as an invitation to sit on the edge of the bed.

"You're finally making it home today," Castiel pointed out.

"Yeah," Dean said. "All thanks to you, Cas. I hope you know I'm pretty much never going to be able to repay you for everything you've done for me these past few days." He saw Castiel's expression become soft and sentimental, so he held up a hand. "Please don't say something corny like 'You already have'. I said enough corny shit last night for the both of us."

Castiel said nothing and leaned in to kiss him instead.

* * *

**A/N: Well, there we have it. I hoped that putting this chapter up today would attract Destiel shippers trying to get over the premiere. And also make them feel better. Enjoy and review!**


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